


We fell in love in october

by frostysunflowers



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 80’s vibes, Alternate Universe - High School, Awesome James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Tony Stark Feels, nerdy dorks bonding over scary movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: "You wanna get some popcorn?" he asks, the question leaving his mouth in a garbled burst.Jim shrugs. "Depends. You like yours with extra butter?""No, I’m not a heathen," Tony scoffs without thinking, only to feel a snap of panic as Jim gives a gasp of offence, though it quickly turns into something warm as he spots the teasing smirk on the other boy’s face."You’ve got no taste, you mean.""Says you."orWho knew watching scary movies could lead to falling in love?
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark
Comments: 66
Kudos: 164





	We fell in love in october

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely have no idea how this fic ended up at 10k but I guess that just shows how much I love Tony and Rhodey, and watching movies haha. There's plenty of mentions of classic horror movies but you don't need to have seen anything to enjoy the feels, and trust me there are many, cos these two dorks are very much dumbasses. 
> 
> Warning for a small amount of homophobic comments and attitude.

"You wanna go to the movies?"

Tony jolts and looks up from his book at the guy standing by his table. James Rhodes, captain of the baseball team, honor roll student and all round devastatingly handsome guy stares back down at him. 

"I...what?" Tony asks.

James blinks twice and adjusts the strap of his backpack. " _Nightmare on Elm Street_ is playing at the _Regal_ this Friday, if you wanna go."

It’s not a question exactly, so Tony finds himself unable to form any sort of coherent answer as he continues to stare up at the other boy, his grip on his book growing ever tighter by the second. He’s only been at this school for three weeks and aside from catching glimpses of James during their shared literature and biology classes and in the corridors, they’ve never interacted once. Tony wasn’t even aware that James knew he existed. They run in completely different circles, what with James being popular and into sports and Tony being new and usually spending his time alone in the library or annoying whoever else happens to be hanging out in the science labs or at robotics club. 

He hasn’t had more than exactly three positive interactions with anyone else here since he arrived, so this entire conversation so far is confusing to say the least. 

And suspicious because, hey, people are nothing if not predictable. To be sure, Tony glances around the room to see if he can spot anyone obviously staring in their direction while snickering behind their hands or elbowing each other with glee, but there’s nothing. 

Tony turns his attention back to James who is still standing by his table, looking at him expectantly with dark eyes that glint alluringly beneath the fluorescent cafeteria lights. 

"Uh…" Tony clears his throat. "That’s the one where Johnny Depp gets yanked through the bed, right?" he asks because that’s the only detail he knows, one that he had overheard in the halls of another school in another town. 

"Yeah,” James nods, looking a little relieved to have heard Tony speak. "Big old blood fountain."

Tony’s answering laugh comes out as a nervous half snort half chuckle that catches in the back of his nose, making him splutter. He feels a blush scorch his cheeks and it only grows hotter when he sees that James is grinning at him. It’s a good grin, not too big, genuine and warm. 

"So, you wanna go?"

Tony narrows his eyes slightly, still wary. He’s gone to enough schools in his life to know what kind of spiteful bullshit other kids will put each other up to when it comes to someone like him. New, nerdy, small for his age, heir to the famous Stark empire; it all paints him as one gigantic target.

"Why are you asking me? If this some kind of hazing thing - "

"It’s not," James shakes his head, "promise. I just…" he grimaces and adjusts his backpack again. "I saw your face when those dudes were talking in the lunch line about everyone from robotics going to see a movie together. They didn’t ask you, did they?"

 _Don’t wanna go with those assholes anyway_ , Tony almost snaps. What he says instead is, "How do you know I do robotics?"

James shrugs. 

Tony takes another quick look around. One or two people are looking their way curiously, but there’s still nothing to suggest that this is the start of a horrible prank. 

And it’s not like he’s got anything better to do. 

"What time?" 

James grins again and Tony’s hands clench around his book tight enough to bend the pages. 

  
  


* * *

They exchange proper greetings and James ("You can call me Jim, only my mama calls me James.") writes down the name of the movie theater and draws a pretty impressive little map from Tony’s apartment. He pauses only for a second when Tony gives his address but doesn’t comment apart from, "Huh. Nice places round there."

 _Yeah_ , Tony thinks scornfully as images of large empty spaces and silent evenings fill his mind, _if you like living alone with nobody to talk to._

That had been one of the conditions Howard had set forth when Tony had point blank refused to go to college before he was eighteen. 

"You want to do things your way?" the man had said, giving Tony’s shoulder a none too friendly squeeze. "Fine. You can carry on getting your precious high school experience but I will state the terms and you will do it on your own, understand? Your mother and I won’t be there running after you, nor will Jarvis be there to pander to your every need." 

Tony had merely clamped his lips shut and glared hatefully at Howard as the man leaned in close and muttered, "And if I hear one word about you doing even more to sully the Stark name than you already have, we will have a very, very big problem."

So he’d been left alone, marooned in apartment after apartment as Howard punished him for wanting to live a normal life for just a little while, letting him settle before blowing the walls down like the big bad wolf and yanking him up by the roots again and again. 

Now, three weeks after being planted in Boston, living in yet another sprawling apartment full of dark corners and enrolling in yet another school full of smart people who don’t want to know him, something good finally seems to be happening. 

His apartment isn’t far from town so Tony chooses to forgo his car and catches the bus instead, just because he can. There’s no Howard to stop him after all and he feels a lame but undeniably thrilling sense of rebellion as he grabs a window seat near the back. Nobody pays him any attention; after all, who would ever expect to see the son of the great Howard Stark on a bus?

He hops out two blocks away and walks to the movie theater with hopeful terror roiling in his stomach. The early October air is crisp and the streets are busy, all hazes of laughter and rumbling car engines and trails of music. Halloween decorations fill every store window that he passes. The directions Jim gave him are easy enough to follow and soon enough Tony finds himself standing outside the _Regal_ , blinking in the brightness coming from the lights of the foyer. He checks his watch and then looks up at the listings board to double check that he’s got the time right. Sure enough, the movie starts in twenty minutes. He can see through the glass of the main doors that the line for the concession stand is long, and there’s plenty of people buying tickets at the booth outside, couples giggling together as they hold hands and groups of friends chatting excitedly as they debate snacks and seating arrangements. 

There’s no sign of Jim. 

Tony leans against the wall, right beside the poster that has _HORROR-THON_ written in gaudy red letters over a collage of horror movie pictures. He scans it briefly, eyes lingering on the ones he recognises from all the times he would walk past other movie theaters and wish he had someone to go with. 

Another five minutes pass and still no Jim. 

Tony sighs and fidgets restlessly, watching people walk by on the sidewalk. He spots a payphone across the street and feels a strong desire to talk to Jarvis. Not to say much, just to hear his voice. 

Another five minutes and the roiling in Tony’s stomach becomes a plunging churn that makes his tongue sting and his throat burn. 

This happened once at his school back in New York. He waited for over an hour, tucked into the doorway as it poured with rain, trying to convince himself that he’d somehow got the times wrong even though he’d checked more than once. In the end, he didn’t need the mocking laughter that greeted him in the halls the next morning to tell him how naive and stupid he’d been. 

Tony checks his watch one more time, digs the heel of his hand into his left eye to press against the sudden sting until it blurs, then pushes off the wall, tucking his hands into his pocket and hitching his shoulders up as he starts to walk away. 

"Tony? Hey, Tony, wait up!"

There’s the sound of rushing footsteps and Tony turns to see Jim hurrying towards him. 

"I’m so sorry I’m late, man," he says when he draws close enough, leaning forward slightly to catch his breath. "My sister borrowed my car and didn’t tell me so I had to catch the bus and there was traffic so - " He straightens up and rubs the back of his head. "You, uh, thought I’d ditched you, huh?"

Tony immediately looks down with a scowl, then shrugs as though he wouldn’t have cared if that had actually been the case. He feels Jim’s eyes on him and can’t resist lifting his own to meet them despite the lingering bitterness of assumed rejection. There’s nothing mean or mocking in Jim’s gaze though; just a hint of something sad. 

"We gonna go see this movie or what?" Tony mutters after a minute of staring passes. 

"Yeah, sure thing," Jim says, nodding towards the line for tickets. "C’mon."

As they wait, not saying a single word to each other, Tony takes the opportunity to study the other boy more closely. He’s a couple of inches taller than Tony, slim but with broad shoulders that stretch out his jacket in a way that’s impossible to ignore. His hair twists up in dark, springy curls that look as though they’d be soft to the touch. In the glow of the nearby lights, Tony can see a scattering of very dark freckles dusting the tops of Jim’s cheeks, souvenirs from the summer, and a small scar that sits just off the corner of his left eye. 

Tony’s had plenty of crushes, an even mix of guys and girls and all varying in their looks and appeal. Nothing really came of them: a few kisses here, a fumble at a party there. Nothing but a box to tick, a misguided attempt to connect, to conquer the loneliness. He knows what it’s like to find someone attractive, but he’s never looked at someone and felt something inside him crackle and spark like it does as he continues to look at Jim. 

Like he can sense Tony staring, Jim’s eyes twitch towards him and Tony quickly looks away, biting his tongue to stop himself from blurting out something stupid. Jim goes up another step on the good guy ladder because he doesn’t make any sort of comment and merely scuffs one of his shoes against the ground to cover the moment. 

They continue to wait in silence for another couple of minutes until it’s almost their turn. Tony, having already started reaching for his wallet before the couple in front of them has finished paying, jumps when Jim throws a hand out gently and says, "No worries, man. I’ll get this."

Tony stands, a crisp fifty dollar bill creasing between his fingers, and watches with an unfamiliar sensation running riot in his chest as Jim hands over a few of his own crumpled dollars and thanks the guy in the booth with a smile. He waits for his change, then turns to Tony and holds out one of the tickets. 

The unfamiliar sensation seems to catapult itself into Tony’s brain because all he can do is blink dumbly at the ticket, his own money now a scrunched ball in his left fist, softening in the sweaty confines of his palm. Seventeen years of being alive and this is the first time anyone has spent money on him outside of Jarvis, his parents and his asshole godfather Obadiah. This is the first time someone his own age hasn’t expected or demanded he pay for everything or shown him an ounce of generosity. 

Tony feels a sudden burst of anger, hot like a firecracker that’s been wedged down the back of his shirt, blistering and harsh. He feels totally off balance, like he’s so far out of control of the moment. A sharp rebuke starts to rush across his tongue, ready to strike out and seize it all back. 

But then Jim has a hand on his shoulder and is asking him if he’s alright, voice lilted with a concern that even to Tony’s ears is undeniably genuine. 

So he bites his tongue, hard enough to taste copper, and takes the ticket with a quick nod and a gruff thanks that holds more weight than any other time he’s said it. 

The heat of the moment starts to ease off as they head inside and make their way to the concessions counter. Tony looks up at the display on the wall and considers the options carefully. The people in front of them, two girls and a guy, walk off with two large boxes of popcorn and one huge soda with three straws poking out of it, one of which the guy is already trying to snag between his teeth, making the girls screech and try to pull it away. 

"You wanna get some popcorn?" he asks, the question leaving his mouth in a garbled burst. 

Jim shrugs. "Depends. You like yours with extra butter?"

"No, I’m not a heathen," Tony scoffs without thinking, only to feel a snap of panic as Jim gives a gasp of offence, though it quickly turns into something warm as he spots the teasing smirk on the other boy’s face. 

"You’ve got no taste, you mean."

"Says you."

They laugh together quietly, turned to fully face each other now, and Tony feels more of the tension fall away. 

"Okay," Jim folds his arms, "what in your mind suggests taste?"

" _Raisinets_ , obviously."

Jim shakes his head. "Damn. I had high hopes for you, man."

"Not my fault you don’t know a good thing when you see it."

Jim’s grin returns. "Don’t know about that," he says just as the very bored looking cashier clears her throat loudly and fixes them with a positively toxic glare. "C’mon, let’s get your disgusting chocolate raisins, weirdo."

Tony gets his _Raisinets_ , along with an extra large soda, and thrusts the now extremely wrinkled fifty dollars at the cashier to cover Jim’s drink and a big, disgusting box of popcorn with extra butter. Emboldened and uncertain of how else to cope with the growing sense of ease brewing inside, Tony also asks for a pack of _Sour Patch Kids_ and waggles them at Jim before tossing them over. 

"Might fix your taste buds."

Jim rolls his eyes but tucks the packet into his pocket and motions for Tony to follow him. It’s not an overly large movie theater but they have to walk down a small corridor and hang a left to reach the correct screen. They pass a few kids from their school on the way who seem to know Jim and greet him cheerily whilst eyeing Tony with a mixture of confusion and scorn. 

Even the guy who checks their tickets squints meanly while asking Jim something to do with a football game. Tony glares right back whilst telling himself that he’s imagining the cold aloofness in Jim’s response, how close he seems to now be standing by Tony’s side, as though offering silent reassurance. 

They make their way into the crowded auditorium just as the trailers draw to an end. The lights start to go down and the buzz of chatter begins to lower into a quiet hum. 

"Over there," Jim whispers loudly, pointing to a half full row near the back. 

They shuffle along, snacks and drinks clutched precariously as they try to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes and topple ungracefully into the seats, sending some of Jim’s popcorn flying everywhere. Tony’s snort is loud in the quiet and he ducks down when a few heads automatically snap in his direction. Jim muffles a snicker of his own as he sits back, wedging his soda into the cup holder, balancing his popcorn on his knees and fumbling with the packet of candy. Tony tucks himself up in his seat and takes a long slurp of soda, eyes on Jim as he starts munching away.

"Hey, sourpatch, you gonna share?"

The lights go completely down and Tony feels the pulse of panic again as Jim’s expression momentarily disappears from view. He’s only kidding but he knows he sounds too brash and snarky; it’s one of the things Howard’s always lashing out at him for, telling him it’s why people think he’s an asshole, an obnoxious -

Something crinkles against his hand just as the movie starts. Tony dumbly holds out his palm and catches the candy as Jim tips the packet forward, sharing at least half the contents with a smile that still looks friendly even beneath the gaudy red glow of the movie title as it blazes across the screen. Tony smiles back in thanks and wriggles around again to get comfy, candy turning warm and sticky in his hand as he eats them one by one.

Jim is crunching away at his popcorn when a dude with knives on his hands and horribly burnt skin looms into the screen and starts chasing a screaming girl. The bucket leaps into the air and spills onto his chest as Tony jolts in his seat, causing their shoulders to knock together. Jim instantly laughs, clapping a hand over his mouth when someone shushes them from behind, and he gives Tony a playful nudge in the arm. Despite the gruesome events taking place on the big screen, the sense of relief that washes over Tony at Jim’s easy touch is immense, warm and manages to loosen some of the knots of doubt in his chest. The movie plays on and Tony spends most of it jumping out of his seat or cringing at the gore, Jim cackling every time. 

It’s raining lightly when they step outside later that night, an uncertain silence falling over them as they stand together on the street, looking everywhere but at each other. Tony thinks back to their conversation earlier on in the week; thinks about the earnesty of Jim’s words and his kindness, and it’s these thoughts that move Tony to quickly point at the _HORROR-THON_ poster on the wall and say, "You wanna see another one next week?"

Jim’s head jerks in surprise at the question, but then a huge smile breaks out on his face, one that makes Tony’s stomach lurch. 

"Yeah, definitely."

  
  


* * *

The magic of the evening rapidly fades and Tony spends the weekend wringing himself tight, pacing about the apartment to try and dampen the roar of conflict in his mind. He rehearses spiteful comebacks for the inevitable ‘gotcha’ moment that he suspects is coming for him at some point, because there’s no way he’ll let go of having the last word, no matter how humiliating the whole thing might be. 

He once again thinks of calling Jarvis, but when it’s Howard’s voice that surprisingly answers the phone on the other end, Tony quickly hangs up and retreats back into his state of suspicious brooding. 

There’s nothing glaringly out of place come Monday morning, and yet Tony still walks through the halls like he’s got fire at his heels, snapping at each hurried step he takes, eyes downcast and shoulders braced for impact. He heads into biology class and there, right in front of him, is Jim, half asleep at a desk with his chin propped up on a fist. Sleepy eyes swivel onto Tony and immediately open wider in recognition, and then a friendly smile and lazy wave are being thrown his way and Tony trips over to an empty space with a bewildered smile of his own, the lurching sensation in his stomach returning with full force. 

Throughout the next two days, whenever he encounters Jim, be it when they pass in the halls or when their eyes meet as one of them steps into class, Tony finds no shred of all the things that he fears; of all that he’s come to expect from anybody who shows him something resembling friendship. Even listening to the rest of the robotics club chat and make plans to see another movie together that weekend stings a little less than it did before, despite Tony’s lingering trepidation. 

The realisation that this might be genuine, that it might actually be real, finally hits him during lunch on Wednesday when a tray clatters down beside his on the otherwise empty table, jostling the battered copy of _Salem’s Lot_ out of his hands. 

"Vampires, huh?" Jim says in way of greeting. "Thought _Christine_ would be more up your alley."

"A classic to be sure, but you can’t beat a bit of rabid soul sucking," Tony counters, turning in his seat. "It’s not _The Stand_ , but then what is?"

Jim snorts and takes a bite of a sandwich that smells and looks far too sweet and gooey for Tony’s tastes. "So, you up for the movies tonight?"

"Yeah, sure," Tony says, trying to sound breezy as hell, like there’s a million other things he could be doing. "You?"

"Definitely. They’re showing one of my favourites tonight."

"Which one?"

Jim shrugs. "Guess you’ll find out."

He throws one of his smiles at Tony, just like the ones that Tony’s been catching here and there all week, and just like before, something unscrews a little more in Tony’s chest and it feels easier to breathe, easier to roll with the warmth of the moment. 

"Well, honeybear," Tony says, giving Jim’s sandwich a pointed look, feeling a rush of smug pride at the way the name falls off his tongue and has Jim laughing and shaking his head, "it better be a good one."

"Trust me, man."

And funnily enough, Tony kinda does. 

  
  


* * *

"I can’t believe you’ve never seen this," Jim mutters that night through a mouthful of nachos. "You’re a Stephen King fan."

Tony glares at him over the bulk of the jacket he has pressed against his face. "It’s a bit different when it’s loud and in stereo!" he hisses over the sound of screeching violins and an axe ferociously hacking into a door. "I can’t shut the book and stuff it under my bed for a week right now."

"Oh come on, it was not that scary."

Tony untangles one of his arms and points an accusatory finger at Jim’s nachos. "No hot sauce on your nachos means you’re insane. I’m not listening to an insane person."

"Really? It’s like that, huh?" Jim says. He reaches over to flick the half empty pack of _M &M’s_ in Tony’s lap. "No peanuts? Sickening."

Tony scowls but there’s no heat behind it, and his eyebrows quickly leap upwards as loud screams erupt from the speakers above their heads. Someone else shrieks a few rows in front and it immediately sends them into a fit of giggles, causing the people sitting behind them to huff angrily. 

"Can’t believe this is one of your favourites," Tony wheezes, slurping some of his soda to try and water down the throbbing burn of hilarity in his lungs. "No taste."

"Yeah, yeah," Jim waves a hand, grabbing more nachos. "Guess that’s why I’m hanging out with you."

A week ago - hell, three days ago - a comment like that would have hit like a sledgehammer and while some part of Tony still flinches and recoils, the rest of him seems to stretch and flex, already addicted and craving more of this, whatever this actually is. 

So he tries something.

"I’m gonna call you Rhodey."

"Rhodey?"

"Yeah," Tony sniffs. "It’s better than Jim."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"Oh and you’re the authority on good names now, are you, _honeybear_?"

"That’s a great name and you know it."

"Do you even know what it is?"

Someone kicks the back of Tony’s chair. "Do you even know how to shut up?"

That sets Tony off all over again and he buries his face back into his jacket, cheeks burning with the strength of his grin as he feels Rhodey shaking helplessly beside him. 

* * *

Two days later, as they’re in the line to buy snacks for _Halloween_ , Rhodey pipes up with a casual, "What you feeling tonight, Tones? Ice cream? Or they’ve got candy apples too, that’s new."

Tony’s had many nicknames in his life. Along with the shortening of his given name, the other choices included brat, boy, asshole, rich prick and Howard Stark Junior, all interchangeable when it comes to belittling or finding a way to put him down. 

Jarvis calls him young sir, never just Tony no matter how much he’s asked, far too respectful and honourable to do otherwise, but there’s no lack of warmth in the term whenever it’s used. 

Tones is the first nickname that feels good, like it fits, given out of affection and not of spite or viciousness. It floors Tony a little; leaves his chest feeling open and gaping. 

"Ice cream," he manages to say weakly. "Chocolate. Two scoops, please."

There’s a triumphant smile on Rhodey’s face as he makes the order. 

They end up swapping tubs back and forth, Tony’s chocolate for Rhodey’s vanilla drenched in strawberry sauce, not bothering to exchange spoons. 

"Did you know the mask he’s wearing is actually a William Shatner mask?" Rhodey whispers, pointing his spoon at the menacing figure stalking along a dark corridor. "A Captain Kirk death mask."

Tony whines, falling back against his seat. "Well, that’s just ruined Kirk forever for me, thank you so much. Whenever I watch the show, I’ll just see this."

"Just think of it as an alternate episode," Rhodey suggests, then cackles loudly as something crashes on screen and Tony yelps loudly enough to drown out poor Jamie Lee Curtis. 

* * *

As soon as the words, "we’ve traced the call, it’s coming from inside the house," are spoken during _When a Stranger Calls_ , Tony sucks too hard on the straw of his soda in shock. The bubbles fly down his throat far too fast and he splutters loudly over the excitable murmuring of the audience, flailing one hand at the screen while Rhodey smacks him on the back and tries to contain his laughter. 

"What the fuck," he wheezes, grabbing Rhodey’s arm and squeezing. "Rhodey - what - "

"Shhhh shut up, man."

"In the _house,_ Rhodey - "

"Shhh!"

When he gets home that night, Tony checks every corner of the place twice, unwilling to take any chances. In the bustling school corridors the next day, Rhodey smirks knowingly at the dark shadows beneath his eyes and writes down a number on the back of a napkin during lunch. 

"Just in case you need an assist," he says, sliding it over. 

Tony tucks it in his pocket carefully and makes sure to leave it right beside the phone as soon as he arrives home that night. 

* * *

Tony had heard that _The Exorcist_ is the scariest film ever. He remembers reading somewhere that movie theaters had needed to place signs in the lobbies to warn people of just how scary it was, with countless audience members throwing up, passing out or running out of the screen in fear to spend many nights thereafter crying into their pillows after another bad dream.

So needless to say, when Rhodey tells him what movie is showing tonight, he’s intrigued and just a bit more excited than normal. 

"Have you seen it?" he asks as they head inside, boxes of popcorn and extra large sodas tucked into their arms. 

"Nah. Mama said we’d be inviting the devil into the house if we so much as owned the tape."

"Wow. She really that religious?"

"Not at all," Rhodey replies, elbowing Tony into one of the rows. "So that should tell you all you need to know."

It doesn’t take long for the lights to go down, the chatter to stop and for things to get pretty intense. Tony can tell that some people have already seen the movie from the way he sees shoulders hunching up by ears and couples tucking their heads close together, their silhouettes merging into one against the backdrop of silvery light coming from the screen, the atmosphere turning tense with anticipation. 

Beside him, Rhodey shifts in his seat, popcorn rustling in its box as he leans into Tony’s shoulder, offering or perhaps even seeking silent comfort for any potential moment of incoming fright.

Tony braces himself, gazed fixed to the screen, soda cup gripped tight between his hands, waiting. 

Someone, multiple someones, scream loudly. Rhodey jumps and Tony - 

Tony laughs. 

Not quietly, but a startled burst of surprised delight, one that brings instant tears to his eyes and makes his entire body quake and ache all over with pure delight. People are turning around to look at him, their own terror subsiding in place of frustration and disbelief, which just makes it even funnier to Tony, causing him to absolutely howl. He feels Rhodey pulling his arm and then a sweater flies into his face. He clings to it desperately and buries his face into it, giggling breathlessly as he tries to gather himself, but with every trembling pause for air, it only seems to get worse. 

Five minutes later, out on the sidewalk, he leans weakly against the wall and gulps in chilly fall air like a man dying of thirst. Rhodey munches on what’s left of the popcorn by his side, shaking his head.

"You’re something else, man," he says. "Anyone ever tell you that?"

Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded spiteful, but from Rhodey it sounds fond, affectionate, like a joke they’re sharing together. 

"Once or twice," Tony sighs shakily, the last of his giggles finally subsiding as he hands Rhodey back his sweater. "Oh, man. That was good."

"You didn’t even see the ending."

"Doesn’t matter. I’ve been fed and it was glorious."

Rhodey laughs, a rather ridiculous kind of wheezing sound that makes Tony groan with a grin, ribs aching and heart fit to burst. 

* * *

_Friday the 13th_ is packed out, full of overexcited teenagers that all squeal and jeer loudly at the bloodshed. Tony ends up spilling soda all over his jacket and goes home wearing Rhodey’s, the sheepskin lining warm and soft against his skin.

They both wind up skipping dinner to make it to _An American Werewolf in London_ on time, grabbing two hotdogs each and some popcorn to share and snagging seats just as the previews end. When their hands brush in the popcorn box, they both jerk in surprise but neither pulls completely away. It happens at least five more times and Tony lets himself wonder very briefly if Rhodey is doing it deliberately too. 

Rhodey falls asleep during _The Amityville Horror_. Less than fifteen minutes in, a weight drops onto Tony’s shoulder, making him jump and sending his candy tumbling down into the darkness at his feet. He twists and his nose brushes against the short corkscrews of Rhodey’s hair, the scent of coconut mixing sweetly with the sugary tang of Tony’s own breath as it stutters out of his mouth. He knew Rhodey was tired from the jaw-cracking yawns he’d been giving as they waited in line outside, a result of too many late nights doing homework, so he doesn’t have the heart to wake the guy. Instead he shuffles ever so delicately until the angle is more comfortable and tilts his own head to rest against Rhodey’s hair, peeking through one eye at the movie, heart pounding at the base of his throat. 

_Aliens_ has them both grinning like loons, all jabbing elbows and excited sleeve pulling almost right from the start. The action is fierce, the tension near unbearable and the stakes high to the point where Tony doesn’t even realise that he’s grabbed Rhodey’s hand until Rhoey squeezes it tight, a few of their fingers locking loosely together. Tony lets go first, but only because he can feel his palm starting to sweat. 

So it goes on for at least a dozen more nights, the month flying past in a rush of gore and fright, chest-shaking laughter and unintentional touches coupled with warm smiles and a friendship that Tony still can’t quite convince himself is fully real. As lame as it sounds, he’s never had a proper friend before, so he does his best to stamp down all the other feelings running riot inside him because he can’t bear the idea of doing a single thing to ruin this, no matter what the little voice in the back of his mind might be saying. 

* * *

The day before Halloween brings heavy downpours and an overbearing scent of burnt syrup and rubbery pancakes in the busy cafeteria. 

"Okay but _Aliens_ is better than _Alien_." 

Rhodey nods in agreement as he chews his sandwich - turkey mayo today. " _Alien_ is scarier though."

"Uh, excuse you, on what planet?" 

"This one, jackass."

Tony shakes his head vehemently. "Nope. Unacceptable opinion. The beeping of the motion trackers alone is terrifying."

"Yeah, but _Alien_ has the original chestburster scene," Rhodey counters. "My mama served spaghetti and meatballs the night I first watched it and I nearly hurled in the bread basket."

Tony flicks at Rhodey’s sandwich. "You’ll look like bread one day."

Rhodey takes another bite. "Sh’up."

"Gross doesn’t mean scary, you know."

"But if it’s gross AND scary, it wins."

Tony narrows his eyes and Rhodey gives him a closed-mouth smile, big and cheeky, making Tony’s heart do that stupid thing where it tries to decide if it still wants to keep beating or not. 

"You know the movie we’re seeing tonight is really gory, right?" Rhodey asks, reaching for his water. "Like, really brutal."

"No spaghetti for me then," Tony sighs sadly. "Which is a damn shame ‘cause I make awesome spaghetti."

"You’ll have to make it for me sometime."

Tony falters, just for a split second, then nods. "Y-yeah. Yeah, sure."

Rhodey smiles again, much more warmly this time, and goes back to his sandwich, leaving Tony to sit and pick morosely at his own food. 

He’s been trying not to think about it: about what will happen once October is over and the _HORROR-THON_ ends. Rhodey hasn’t mentioned anything, nor has he given any suggestion of wanting to stop hanging out anytime soon, but Tony’s thoughts are tainted with doubt all the same. He knows that Rhodey’s friends, not all of them but definitely most, don’t approve just from the looks that are thrown his way, the intentional shoulder barges that knock him hard into his locker and the vicious drone of whispering that seems to follow him whenever Rhodey isn’t around. 

Tony couldn’t give less of a shit about any of them if he tried, truly, but that doesn’t mean that Rhodey feels the same. He never talks about them, not even to explain why he decided to start having lunch with Tony instead of his usual crowd and Tony hasn’t got the guts to ask, so it lingers like a big black raincloud, feeding into the doubt and turning it thick like tar, impossible to scrub clean. Sometimes, despite everything, it’s all too easy to feel like they’ve been friends for years, their bickering and teasing as natural as breathing, the kind of thing that can only come from two souls destined to always find and recognise each other in some way. 

It’s insane really. After all, it’s only been a month. Any sensible person would recognise it as infatuation at best, a new and exciting friendship that will cool its fires before long. 

But then Tony’s skin will tingle and every hair on his body will stand on end as he looks at Rhodey’s face, wondering what would happen if he were to lean in for a kiss, and he knows sense doesn’t have any power here. All the what ifs and maybes have kept him up late almost every night, thoughts of risking their friendship for something that feels crazily like being halfway in love leaving him tossing and turning, then eventually tinkering pointlessly with any available kitchen appliance when his mind starts to wonder what Howard would do if he knew. 

"You okay, Tones?"

Tony looks up from his dismantled sandwich to meet Rhodey’s questioning gaze. 

"Sure thing, platypus," he says, smiling as Rhodey rolls his eyes at the nickname. "Just considering all potential snack options for tonight, that’s all."

"No hot dogs," Rhodey says. "I can’t deal with watching you throw them up again."

"Oh, come _on_. That was hardly my fault. That movie was disgusting."

"The clue was in the title. What did you think a movie called _The Fly_ would be about, pixies and fluffy bunnies?"

"Well I sure as hell didn’t expect Jeff Goldblum to go from looking devilishly handsome to…" Tony waves a hand and gags loudly. "Nope. Still can’t talk about it."

"Definitely no hot dogs," Rhodey snorts. "Dry foods only."

"Yes, dear."

"But if you’re lucky I’ll still let you hold my hand when you get scared."

The offer sounds innocent, teasing as usual, but Tony swears he can feel something ripple across the space between them; something gossamer-like but strong in its allure, prickling straight through into Tony’s veins. A smile lingers on Rhodey’s lips but it’s faint now, his eyes slightly wide like he’s realising the implication of his words, and he looks so damn beautiful that Tony has to squeeze his hands into fists, the sting of nails biting skin failing to purge a single ounce of the curiosity consuming him whole. 

Rhodey’s gaze flickers, an infinitesimal drop and lift from Tony’s eyes to his lips and back again. His chest expands, the fabric of his forest green sweatshirt stretching with the movement, a rattle of air hitching out of his throat and before he can say a word, something that might break the spell or break everything into irretrievable pieces, Tony blurts out, "I’ll hold yours if you hold mine," with all the sassy bravado he can muster. 

Everything locks solid around them for a second, long enough for another ripple of that something to pass between them. 

Then Rhodey nods, the smile returning to his face. "You got it."

And Tony spends the next few hours trying to think of anything but holding Rhodey’s hand. 

* * *

It turns out that all the fretting over what snacks would be safe to eat was a complete waste of time, because they are forgotten about very early on during _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ , popcorn and candy abandoned on the sticky floor as Tony yanks Rhodey’s jacket up over his head to cover his eyes, unable to watch as the savagery and horror grows worse and worse with every second. His embarrassment at his inability to stomach the movie is short lived as he feels Rhodey move, yanking up the jacket so he can duck underneath it too. It’s pitch black under the thick leather but Tony doesn’t need to see Rhodey’s face to know that there’s a sheepish grin on it.

"So, this is pretty gross."

"No kidding," Tony hisses.

"Sorry, man. Guess I forgot how disgusting it is."

Their faces are so close together that Tony can smell the butter on Rhodey’s breath, feel the heat of it filling the space between them. The nausea that had been curdling in his stomach is rapidly dwindling, which is great because he really doesn’t want to throw up red and yellow _M &M’s_ and soda on Rhodey’s lap, but now he’s so aware of Rhodey’s presence that his mouth has become as dry as a desert, his heart all but leaping out from between his ribs. 

"We can go if you want," Rhodey murmurs, voice low and deep somewhere in his chest. 

"No, I’m good," Tony whispers back. "Happy to stay here."

The jacket rustles with Rhodey’s answering nod, his voice still a deliciously soft rumble as he says, "Me too," and carefully takes Tony’s hand in his. 

It rushes over Tony like a wave, the desire and bone-deep wanting that’s been steadily building and building for the past few weeks. Whatever feeble shreds of self control he’s been clinging onto snap, not an ounce of resistance or second thought to be found as he leans forward, nose bumping into Rhodey’s right before their lips meet in a firm, warm kiss. 

Rhodey responds immediately, hungrily, letting go of Tony’s hand and fumbling at the front of Tony’s shirt to pull him closer, his stomach wedging uncomfortably on the armrest but he doesn’t care, merely pushes up until he’s leaning further into Rhodey, a muffled gasp escaping his mouth as they momentarily part for air then dive in for more. 

Cool air hits Tony’s skin as the jacket falls away, knocked loose by Rhodey’s other hand snaking into his hair, leaving them in full view of whoever may be sitting nearby. It’s probably very bad movie theatre etiquette to be making out while a guy screams bloody murder and gets beaten by a lunatic on the big screen but Tony doesn’t care; all he cares about is Rhodey’s tongue gently slipping into his mouth, the pleased hum reverberating through Rhodey's chest as they push even closer to each other - 

"I _told_ you."

"I knew it. They’re fucking fags."

Rhodey freezes, lips going slack against Tony’s. He jerks away before Tony can even comprehend what’s just been sneered from somewhere behind them and turns to look over the back of his seat. Tony looks over too, the taste of Rhodey’s mouth still on his as he spots five guys staring at them from three rows back, disgust and anger written all over their faces in livid sneers that loom viciously out of the darkness. 

"The fuck are you doing, Rhodes?" one of them snarls, jerking his chin at Tony. "He offer to cover your college tuition or something?"

"Yeah," another jeers, "he paying you by the hour or per blowjob?"

The speed in which Tony launches himself over the seats is pretty impressive, and he manages to get a few good punches in but is soon unfairly overpowered, hits coming at him from all directions, the noise of the movie drowning out the indecipherable yelling going on above his head. A hand grips the back of his shirt, yanking him to his feet and pulling him along the aisle and out into the foyer. It’s only in the bright lights that Tony realises that it’s not Rhodey holding him but a rather burly usher wearing a waistcoat and shirt that bulges around his biceps. 

"Hey, wait!" Tony struggles, trying to twist free. "Let go!"

"Not a chance, pal. I saw you start it."

"Yeah, ‘cause they were being homophobic assholes - hey!"

The main doors fly open and he’s forcefully shoved outside, a wet chill and the sight of rain pouring down on the sidewalk greeting him. 

"Don’t let me see your face around here again," the usher growls, pointing at him menacingly then stalking back inside. 

Tony watches him go, wrapping his arms around himself as he peers through the glass, hoping Rhodey remembers to bring the jacket he’d left discarded on the back of his chair. 

Two minutes pass with no sign of Rhodey. 

He waits two more, jittering from head to toe as the adrenaline abates and the cold seeps in, settling in his stomach and sweeping through his chest. 

Another minute and Tony’s heading down the street, rain pelting down hard against his shoulders, an empty space by his side where Rhodey should be. 

* * *

The rain is still there in the morning, pouring down in relentless streams that throw big, fat droplets against the windows.

Tony stays at home in his comfiest sweatpants, most threadbare hoodie and the glasses he’s supposed to use for pretty much everything but doesn’t wear in public on account of how nerdy they make him look. A glimpse in the bathroom mirror reveals how they make his sore eyes appear so much worse, the red blotches on his skin magnified behind the lenses. He builds a den on the couch, buries himself in multiple blankets and pillows, adjusted just so to support his bruised muscles, and watches reruns of Star Trek and ploughs through an entire tub of ice cream before noon with all the grace and care of a feral gremlin. 

He tells himself that the lingering wetness on his eyelashes and the clogged feeling in his nose and the needling pain in his chest is all from walking home in the rain last night. He also tells himself, not for the first time, that he shouldn’t be surprised that things ended up like this. After all, the little voice in his head had told him it would go wrong, one way or another. 

The day Rhodey first spoke to him in the cafeteria, genuine and sincere, seems a whole world away now. 

A part of Tony desperately wants to call Jarvis again; longs to hear a kind and familiar voice, one that’s never turned scornful or angry, tell him that it’s okay and that it’ll be alright. He wouldn’t believe a word, but it would still be nice to hear all the same. 

Taking a peek out of the window later that afternoon as he makes more coffee reminds him that today is in fact Halloween, the misshapen pumpkins sitting on the porch steps across the street looking no less gaudy in the rainy gloom. 

He and Rhodey were supposed to go and watch _Ghostbusters_ tonight. It’s the movie Tony had been looking forward to the most, finding its inclusion in an event for horror movies hilarious. Rhodey had seemed excited too but...well, Rhodey had seemed a lot of things. 

Tony scrubs his eyes roughly as they sting for the umpteenth time. He hates how miserable he feels, the way it clings to every bit of him like wet sand, impossible to scrape off and turning everything rough and uncomfortable. Coffee in hand, he shuffles back to his den and re-tangles himself in the blankets, curling up as small as possible on the couch and closing his eyes as the _Star Trek_ theme song plays again. 

The next thing he knows is that it’s dark outside, the glow of the television bathing the room in an eerie light, and there’s someone knocking on the door loudly over the rapid drumming of the rain. 

A bolt of dread zooms up Tony’s spine. 

He’s seen the movies, he knows this scene. He’s also been kidnapped twice, albeit terribly, so he can already predict at least ten different horrible ways this could end. There’s absolutely no reason for anybody to be knocking on his door, on Halloween of all days. If it were Howard, or a kidnapper for that matter, he or they would likely have barged in without warning. If it were a visitor, not that Tony would ever expect one, they’d buzz the intercom, and as for a neighbour, he’s never so much as even seen one of them. 

So the only logical conclusion is that there is in fact some kind of murderous lunatic knocking on his door. 

Lowering his feet to the floor, Tony bends and slides the strategically placed baseball bat out from beneath the couch, one of a few weapons he has stashed around the apartment per Jarvis’ instructions. Tony thought it was overkill even after the kidnappings, but he knew better than to argue with a man so worldly wise and unassumingly dangerous as Jarvis. 

He lifts the bat high over his head as he slowly heads towards the door, jumping when there’s another round of knocking. With Captain Kirk giving a rousing speech at his back, Tony takes a deep breath, grabs the handle and yanks the door open. 

Rhodey stands in the hallway, soaked to the bone. Tony immediately lowers the bat, dropping it to the floor where it clatters loudly and blinks hard, not a word to be found in his mouth. 

There’s a very long moment of staring, then Rhodey removes his backpack. "Thought you might wanna watch a movie?" he says, unzipping it and leaning forward so Tony can see the videos and snacks stuffed inside, impressively dry despite the sodden state of everything Rhodey is wearing. Tony blinks, suddenly very aware of his appearance, the horrendous mess of his hair and the dorky glasses perched on his nose. He lifts a hand to remove them but Rhodey reaching out to stop him, falling just short of actually touching his arm, makes him pause. 

"Don’t. They - they look good."

Tony feels heat rush into his cheeks and looks down to glare at his socks. "What do you want," he mumbles, wishing he’d never opened the door. 

"I thought we could talk," Rhodey says. "You weren’t at school today and I didn’t just wanna call, you know. I wanted to see you in person."

"Oh, yeah? To say what?" Tony’s gaze snaps back up, a hot bubble expanding in his chest. "That you’re an asshole like your asshole friends? That I’m just a fucking idiot for thinking someone like you would ever be actually interested in someone like me? Save it, _Jim_. I don’t need any more crap to add to all the bruises I got last night, thanks, so take your movies and get lost."

He starts to close the door but Rhodey moves into the gap, holding it open with one hand. 

"None of that’s true," he says, shaking his head. "I swear. Give me five minutes, okay?"

Tony starts to argue, but then gets a closer look at Rhodey’s face; at the slight shine to the skin around his eye and the graze sitting on the soft jut of his left cheekbone. His hand reaches up of its own accord, thumb coming to rest just below the mark. Rhodey blinks at the contact but doesn’t pull away. 

"You’re right about one thing. Those guys are assholes. But they’re definitely not my friends."

"That’s why you didn’t follow me," Tony whispers. "You fought with them."

"Never thought I’d be able to say I got into a fist fight at the movies. I got a lifelong ban but I guess that’s better than being arrested," Rhodey says, moving his hand off the door to pull down his hood, sending droplets of water whirling through the air. "And I wanted to follow you but by the time I got outside, you were gone and I would have missed curfew. I can’t exactly make things up with you while trapped in my house for a week ‘cause my mama caught me sneaking in on a school night, you know?"

Tony nods slowly, trying to untangle the words as they spin in his mind, far too good to be believed. Rhodey suddenly hissing and shivering violently kicks him into movement and he switches on the nearest light before stepping aside, kicking the discarded bat out of the way to let Rhodey pass. 

"Why are you so wet?"

"My sister borrowed my car again so I got the bus. I forgot my umbrella so the walk from the bus stop wasn’t fun."

"Oh," Tony says weakly. "Uh, I’ve probably got something you can wear. Might be a bit small but…"

"Yeah, that would be great, thanks," Rhodey smiles, sounding equally awkward as he pulls off his jacket and hangs it delicately on the stand by the wall. 

Tony manages to walk casually to his room, only giving into the swell of bewilderment as he’s rooting through the dresser, bracing himself against it with one hand while he waits for his heart to stop jackhammering. He hadn’t counted on anything like this happening; had already resigned himself to days upon days of lonely misery and rejection, not for one second considering that he and Rhodey would even speak again, let alone end up in his apartment together. 

He leaves a pair of sweatpants, some socks and an _AC/DC_ hoodie on the bed and steps back out into the main room. Rhodey’s found his way into the kitchen, looking curiously at the toaster that Tony’s tinkered with far too many times since he moved here. It lets out a curious and very playful ding when Rhodey touches one of its chrome edges, and Tony suppresses a snort as Rhodey jumps back in surprise. 

"Don’t mind him. He’s not used to guests."

"You built this?"

"Remodelled."

"Oh," Rhodey says, laughing softly. "That’s pretty cool."

"Yeah. Thinking of reprogramming the vacuum soon too." Tony gestures towards his bedroom. "Uh, you can get changed in there. Don’t know how well my stuff will fit but at least it’ll be dry."

Rhodey nods in thanks and slips out of the room, unknowingly leaving tiny puddles of rain on the floor from his dripping clothes. Tony considers them for a moment, then returns to the couch to stare blankly at yet another episode of _Star Trek_ as he waits. He has absolutely no fucking idea what to do, what to say, what to think about any of this. Part of him just wants to dig back into the blankets and pretend this isn’t happening, while another part so desperately wants to hear what Rhodey has to say and isn’t that just all kinds of pathetic. 

Movement in the corner of his eye alerts him to Rhodey’s presence in the doorway of his bedroom. The clothes fit pretty well in length but there’s a definite stretch to the hoodie where it sits across Rhodey’s chest, a few new cracks in the worn lettering. Tony’s mouth goes dry at the sight and he clears his throat loudly, looking away. 

"I left my clothes hanging in your bathroom," Rhodey says. "Hope that’s cool."

"Sure, yeah."

"Can…Can I sit down?"

Tony nods, stuffing himself right up against the arm of the couch as though he’s being approached by a wild animal. Rhodey perches on the other end primly, back as straight as an ironing board.

"I like this episode," he says after a minute. "The mirror universe one is my favourite though."

"Is this really what you wanna do? Pretend we’re friends just hanging out watching tv together? Gotta say, I’m not really feeling it."

"No, this isn’t what I want. And I’m not pretending to be your friend. I wanna talk, but I can’t do that when you’re over there acting like I’m gonna try and tear your arms off."

"Oh, well, excuse me." Tony mutes the show and shifts along the couch, whipping one of the blankets over himself like a cape and sitting cross-legged on the cushions, one of his knees knocking into Rhodey’s thigh. "This better?"

"Yeah, it is, actually," Rhodey retorts, pivoting to adopt the position sans blanket cape. "I’m sorry. I am, I can sit here and say it all night if I have to. I should have followed you straight out but after the usher dragged you away, they just carried on and...I couldn’t control myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry in my whole life."

"Lucky you," Tony scoffs. "I’ve dealt with far worse."

"So have I. I’m black and I’m openly gay, Tony. Life’s hardly a picnic and it never will be. I wanna join the Air Force after college, you know? Plenty of things are or will be really hard, but it doesn’t need to be a competition. If it hurts, it hurts."

Tony scowls, the very acknowledgement of his pain making him want to do all he can to derail this conversation. "Where’d you get that, a fortune cookie?"

"Back of a popcorn box, actually. You ever looked at those things properly? They’re pretty insightful."

Tony’s scowl melts into a confused frown. Rhodey’s mouth twitches, top lip scrunching in one corner right before he smiles. Tony melts instantly, lapping up the sight, wanting more of it. He wants to be angry because angry is safe, angry protects him from the things that cut deep and sting hard, cushions all the blows and buries the pain. 

But looking at Rhodey now, bathed in cosy lighting and wearing his clothes, his smile still so soft and warm, Tony can’t hold onto it. It slips away, unravels like a dropped stitch, anticipation and a delicate spark of hope taking its place. 

"Tones," Rhodey says and the air leaves Tony’s lungs as a hand carefully cups his cheek. "I need to know if you want this - want me - like I want you. If you wanna just be friends, then we can, ‘cause you’re the very best I’ve ever had and I don’t wanna lose that, no matter what happens here."

"You barely know me," Tony splutters, ears ringing because how the fuck is this actually happening right now. "I barely know you."

"That’s bullshit and you know it."

"We’ve only been hanging out for like a month - " 

"You know more about me than anyone," Rhodey argues. "And I know it’s the same for you."

"You - I - oh fuck it - "

Tony surges forward, half sprawling in Rhodey’s lap, chests pressing together, and kisses Rhodey fiercely, hands immediately grabbing whatever he can reach and holding on tight as Rhodey reciprocates in kind, pulling him close with a muffled groan. 

It’s even better than the first time. Here, they can fully wrap their arms around one another, lean close until there’s no space at all between them, their kisses mercurial as they dance back and forth between tender tastes and nips of teeth that steadily drive Tony insane, leaving him pliant and yearning and so elated that he might as well be flying. It doesn’t matter that the rules of time stand against them, that by the standards of normal this is all pretty ridiculous, infatuation and foolishness run riot on a teenage dream, because it's perfect in every way and Tony can’t help believing that this thing between them is something different, something more.

"You sure this is what you want?" Tony mutters against Rhodey’s lips when they pause for breath. "We’re gonna have a pretty bumpy road ahead."

Rhodey nuzzles their foreheads together. "Yeah, Tones. This is what I really want."

"What about the guys at school? Your team?"

"Everyone who matters is good with it. I don’t care about anybody else."

"Yeah," Tony agrees, mouth moving to find Rhodey’s again. "Me neither."

"You know this kinda ruined my big cheesy gesture," Rhodey complains after much more kissing that leaves them sprawled and entwined on the couch. "I had to almost bribe the guy at the video store who also wanted _Ghostbusters_."

Tony sits up quickly. "You got _Ghostbusters_ and you’re just telling me this now?"

"Sorry," Rhodey shrugs, giving him a lazy grin. "Got distracted."

Tony kisses that grin right off his face, the world turning hot and tempting as hands brush skin beneath hoodies and stroke along collarbones and gently tug on hair, lips tracing open mouthed kisses up necks and pressing behind ears until they’re both trembling with restraint, wanting more but silently in agreement to not rush a single thing. They pull away to look at one another, nose to nose, and Tony knows then and there as he looks into Rhodey’s eyes that he’s absolutely in this for the long run. 

Rhodey kisses his forehead sweetly. "I got snacks too. All your favourites." He pulls himself free to retrieve his backpack, tipping the contents out onto the coffee table. Sure enough, there’s all the sugary goodness Tony has consumed far too much of lately, along with a copy of _Ghostbusters_ and - "

_"The Exorcist?"_

"Thought you might wanna try watching to the end this time, seeing as you can’t get thrown out for laughing here."

"Yeah," Tony agrees, overcome with an urge to kiss Rhodey senseless all over again, all night long. "Still don’t think I’ll make it to the end though."

Rhodey meets his gaze, one heated exchange, and smirks. He pops the tape in while Tony grabs some sodas and turns the lights down, and they bundle back onto the couch under the blankets, squashed as close together as possible with the snacks scattered across their laps. 

They watch the movies, feeding each other candy and stealing kisses here and there, talking over almost every entire scene. Tony was right when he said he wouldn’t make it to the end of _The Exorcist_ , but this time it’s not for laughing. This time, it’s because Rhodey has him gently pinned to the cushions while kissing him over and over until Tony can barely think straight. 

The next morning, Tony awakens to the sight of Rhodey bouncing off the couch with a yelp, falling all over the place as he scrambles to collect his stuff, jabbering about curfew and something to do with cleaning out the china cupboard. He rushes for the door, rushes back and tugs Tony up into a deliciously tongue twisting kiss that makes Tony’s head spin, morning breath be damned. 

"I’ll call you tonight!" he promises, pausing at the door to look back at Tony, slumping against the frame with a groan. "Can you not do that?"

"Do what?"

"Look that good when I have to go."

Tony laughs, truly flattered. "Sorry, honeybear. I can’t help that I’m beautiful."

Rhodey grins, runs back over for one more kiss, then finally makes it out of the door. Tony listens to his retreating footsteps then flops back with a happy sigh, legs swinging happily over the edge of the couch. 

He thinks of Howard briefly, knowing that it’s a bridge he’ll have to cross eventually, all rickety and swinging precariously with every step, but right now there’s only one person he really wants to talk to. 

The phone rings twice before a man picks up on the other end. _"Stark residence, how may I help you?"_

"Hey, J."

Jarvis’ voice immediately turns fond. _"Hello, young sir. How are you? Are you keeping well?"_

"Yeah, I’m doing good. Great actually."

_"What’s his name?"_

Tony grins sleepily into the blankets. Astronauts in rocket ships heading to Mars couldn’t compete with him right now, with how capable he feels of zooming out of the window and up into the stratosphere to walk about the stars, so happy that his entire face is aching with joy. 

"How did you know?"

_"My dear boy, who on earth do you think you’re talking to?"_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kind comments and kudos appreciated <3


End file.
